Pathways
by longingforadeadworld
Summary: After suffering a head trauma, Reid can't help but to notice that something's different. His brain is... well, evolving. Enhanced senses, better profiling skills, and things he couldn't have imagined in his wildest dreams. He's never been normal, but this is just insane. (Telekinesis, telepathy AU. Reid-Centric, though the whole team is involved. Sorry, I'm awful at summaries.)
1. Prologue

_As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives. – _Henry David Thoreau

- – - – - – -

"Is he gonna be alright?"

"Yes, Agent. He's suffered a severe concussion, but there is no apparent brain damage at this point. We'll have to keep him here for the next day or so just to observe him, and once the doctor gives him the all-clear, he's free to go home and continue with his work. Though, he is not to work in the field for two weeks. Another head injury at this point in time could have very serious consequences, it's not worth the risk." Debbie, a nurse, flashed an optimistic smile in Derek's direction as she checked over Reid's vitals.

Morgan nodded weakly and flashed a half-assed smile in the nurse's general direction, his eyes still fixed on his now-sleeping coworker. Reid was like a little brother to him, and as sappy and stupid as it sounded, Morgan fell second to only Garcia when it came to stress levels caused by the genius' frequent hospital trips. He'd always been the unluckiest of the team. The kid was too brave for his own good, and it terrified Morgan sometimes.

Like today, for instance.

The case they'd been working on had been pretty standard, by their measures – there was a guy who was running around and strangling prostitutes, only to then position their dead bodies in a prayer-position. It was fairly easy to figure that he was religious and delusional; he was easy to catch, and they caught him quickly.

They did not, however, anticipate just how far into a psychotic break their unsub really was.

It all happened so fast.

_(It's funny, hearing those words slip his own mouth, after watching them pour from the people he helps on a daily basis.)_

The guy's house was small, dingy and piled with clutter and filth. Their team was in the middle of clearing the house when it happened. Reid was just about to announce that his area was clear, when suddenly, his voice was cut off by a sickeningly loud thud and a yelp that slipped from his chapped, bitten lips. The unsub had been hiding behind a stack of boxes, lying in wait for his chance to strike. Reid had copped a baseball bat to the back of his head, knocking him out almost instantly. Morgan, Hotch and JJ all rushed to the room just in time to gun the bastard down before he really smashed their youngest agent's head in. Reid was alright, the paramedics had arrived quickly and he'd been stabilised with no real fuss. Really, it was simply scary more than anything, watching his little brother's limp body being carted out on a stretcher.

"Mmph..." Morgan snapped out of his semi-trance when he heard a muffled groan from the bed, eyes lighting up slightly as they made contact with a pair of familiar, confused hazel ones.

"Hey, Pretty Boy." he greeted with a more genuine smile. Reid stared at him in confusion for a moment, his eyebrows knitted together as they moved to scan his bright, chemical-scented ward.

"You're in the hospital. You got knocked out, remember? Guy got ya' with a baseball bat." Morgan went on to explain, practically able to see the cogs whirring behind Reid's eyes as he pieced together what had happened.

"Y-Yeah, yeah, I remember..." Reid murmured slowly, nodding his head and carefully sitting up, staring at his lap.

"Woah, take it easy, kid. You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Like..." he trailed off, reaching up and touching the back of his head gingerly, only to have his hand swatted away by Morgan.

"Hey, no touching. I'm gonna call the nurse, tell her you're awake." Morgan decided, reaching over to grab the buzzer by Reid's bed.

Reid frowned down at his lap, shaking his head weakly and squeezing his eyes shut. Something wasn't right.

His sight was sharp and clear, his brain was processing information at a normal rate, he felt no pain when moving his head or neck, he could feel and move all of his extremities perfectly well, he hadn't the slightest hint of a headache, and he remembered everything that had happened, even remembered feeling the bat hit his head.

There was _nothing wrong_, and that definitely wasn't right.

He'd just had his head bashed in with a baseball bat, surely that ensured some degree of pain or confusion, right? Reid shook his head again, hoping that maybe if he could shake his brain around a bit, it would jog the headache that he was meant to have and he could get on with recovering. Again, there was nothing.

"You alright, Reid?" Morgan asked, staring at the younger male wearily.

"Well, I mean, yeah. Like, I'm really alright. My head doesn't hurt at all, I feel totally fine." he nodded, biting his lip as he tried to conjure up some explanation for his lack of headache. He knew that some people got over head injuries faster than others, and that his few hours of sleep would have definitely helped his recovery, but still. It just didn't seem right. Morgan stared at him, his eyes narrowing slightly. He was no genius, but he knew that there was something fishy about a lack of pain after an ordeal like that.

"Your name?" Morgan asked, ignoring the 'are you serious?' look that Reid gave him.

Reid sighed, quickly realising that he wasn't going anywhere until he gave Morgan an answer. "Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm 32 years old, my birthday is October 9th, 1981. The president is Barack Obama. I'm a special agent working for the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and I'm guessing that one of you is holding onto my credentials 'cause hospital scrubs don't come with pockets." he said, smiling up at Morgan. Morgan couldn't help but to chuckle, shaking his head slightly.

"Alright, I dunno what I expected from Mr. Eidetic Memory anyway." he grinned, earning a roll of the eyes from Reid.

"Oh, Dr. Reid, glad to see that you're awake. Do you want any painkillers? You turned them down earlier, but you can always change your mind." the nurse offered as she re-entered his ward, only to earn a quick, firm shake of the head from Reid. He'd stay away from painkillers even if he did have a splitting headache.

"I, um... I-I actually really don't need any pain relief. My head doesn't hurt at all, and I don't feel confused, disoriented or sluggish. I even remember everything that happened." he explained, the nurse stopping as a frown formed on her face. The nurse took him through the same set of questions that Morgan had mere moments ago, and he passed with flying colours. It was as if he'd never been concussed at all. The nurse looked as confused as Reid felt about the situation.

"Well, I guess that as long as you aren't deteriorating, that's a good thing. I think you should have a CAT scan just in case though, and we are still required to hold you for at least twenty-four hours." she said, scribbling some stuff down on her clipboard. Reid nodded; he wanted to make sure that there was nothing wrong too, and he was sure that he could get Garcia to slip him in some Indian takeout for dinner later. It wouldn't be his first night in a hospital, he could deal with it. The nurse went to schedule a scan, leaving Reid and Morgan alone once more.

Both remained in a comfortable silence until Morgan's phone began ringing, a smile forming on his face as he laid eyes on the caller ID: Garcia.

"Hey, kid, it's Garcia. You wanna tell her that you're okay? I bet she's dying to hear your voice." he said, looking up at Reid and offering out his phone. Reid flashed a small smile as he took the phone, bracing himself for the impact of Garcia's motherly love and squealing.

"Morgan? How is he?" Garcia immediately blurted out, a smile forming on Reid's face.

"Hey, Garcia, I'm fine." he replied, chuckling weakly as he heard her squeak. He could practically see her smiling through the phone. It was nice, knowing that there was someone like Garcia who would always care about him.

"I was so _worried! _Boy Wonder, from now on, you're wearing a helmet when you and the crime fighters go out on a case. So, um, how are you? What have the doctors said?" she continued, nerves audible in her voice. Reid almost felt bad for getting bashed with a baseball bat and causing his team so much hassle and worry.

"I'm fine, like, really. No headache or memory loss or anything, the doctors are really confused by my lack of symptoms, but they don't think much of it. I did have a severe concussion, and I have a few stitches, but I'm good for now." he explained, picking at his blanket with his stubby fingernails.

"Well that's awesome, right? I was so scared that you'd have a killer headache, 'cause I remember when you had all those headaches a while back and it was awful and I–" Garcia rambled, only to be cut off by Reid.

"Garcia, I'm fine. Thank you for calling to see if I was alright." he said softly, smiling to himself.

"Oh- I- alright. You're welcome, Reid. If there's anything I can do for you, just let me know, yeah?"

"Actually... well, I, um, I-I understand if you're busy with your computer work or you have other things to do, but do you think you'd be able to drop some Indian takeout down here? I'll pay you back for it, I promise, I just really don't like hospital food and this place smells like bleach and I'm sorta hungry..." he trailed off, biting his lip.

"Reid, be quiet, I'll be there in half an hour. Just your usual, right?" Garcia hushed him quickly,

"Yeah, please. Thanks Garcia." he sighed gratefully, before handing the phone back to Morgan and laying down again, sinking into the soft mattress. Luck really hadn't been on his side lately. He loved his job with the BAU, but it sure as hell had tested him over the years.

"Right, kid, she'll be here asap. You realise she's gonna bring a whole lot more than just 'your usual', right?" Morgan grinned.

Reid rolled his eyes and smiled, nodding his head. It was Garcia, she'd probably come with enough food to last him the rest of his stay and a stack of books to read too.

"Dr. Reid? We're gonna take you to have your CAT scan now, it shouldn't take too long." the nurse announced, bustling around the room as she readied him to be wheeled off. Reid nodded, hoping for nothing more than a hot, fresh Indian takeout to tuck into when he got back.


	2. Chapter 1

**One Month Later**

- – - – - – -

"Drop your weapon, Martin! It's over now, don't do something you'll regret." Hotch commanded, glock raised and ready to fire.

Reid and Morgan both stared at the man standing before them, their firearms aimed at him too. The girl in his hold was only twelve years old – she'd never forget the feeling of her own father's arm wrapped around her throat, nor would she forget the sight of the long, glinting knife in his hand. Reid observed their every move, noting how Martin's grip on the knife was slipping slightly thanks to his clammy palms. He was obviously under a lot of pressure, and now was the make or break moment. He'd either drop the weapon and surrender, or attack his daughter with it.

"Come on, man. You don't wanna do this – what happened between you and your wife isn't her fault. Let her go, and we can talk more." Morgan negotiated, gesturing to the shaking, sobbing girl.

Reid could see the man's icy, blue eyes glittering with silent victory as he very slowly began to lower his knife, grip still tight on his daughter.

He knew what their unsub was going to do.

He had no idea how he knew, but something in his mind was betting on it, and he'd discovered that his intuition was somewhat more than trustworthy lately.

Before anyone else had even registered the man's body jerking back, knife held impossibly tight in his hand and aimed at his daughter's stomach, Reid fired. The bullet hit the man square in the shoulder, knocking the knife from his grip and causing him to flail and fall to the floor.

Reid slowly lowered his weapon and put it back in his holster as Morgan ran over to the girl, his mind racing almost painfully fast.

_Did he really just shoot that guy?_ How on Earth did he, a) manage to hit him square in the shoulder when in the past, he'd struggled to not miss his targets entirely, and b) know that the guy was gonna turn and attempt to kill his daughter?

He racked his mind for answers, and it turned out that now was one of the rare occasions in which he had no idea how to explain what had happened.

The longer he spaced out of reality and retreated into his own mind, searching for answers to his numerous questions, the less aware he became of the environment around him. It tended to happen a lot when he thought really hard about something – he'd block out his surroundings, leaving only him and his mind to file through. Lately though, thanks to the fact that his senses had strengthened since the attack a month ago, snapping back to reality could be difficult. So, when Morgan pushed past him with the girl he'd just saved, coming back down to Earth resulted in a massive shock to his system.

The first thing that really hit him was the room's smell. The gunpowder residue from the bullet he fired was lingering in the air around him, and its strong, smokey scent was burning the inside of his nose, so badly so that it sent a wave of nausea washing over him. Then, he got a whiff of the metallic-like odour that the man's blood was giving off as it pooled and stained the carpet, a smell that only made his stomach twist further.

The gunshot was still ringing loudly in his ears, however, it wasn't quite loud enough to drown out all the other noises that surrounded the place. A combination of police sirens, paramedics yelling orders, and cops having loud conversations on noisy radios outside was bad enough as it was, and it was even worse when he could hear and register every word being said.

Before the incident one month ago, Reid never took much notice of the colour that surrounded his life. Now, it was hard not to. The deep, rich shades of crimson that came together to create the saturated red colour of the man's blood had been burnt into his memory permanently. He could see the colour draining from their unsub's face as he bled out, skin a waxy, whitish shade and cheeks loosing their rosy flare. His eyes trained on the warm, yellow sunlight that filtered into the room through the dirty windows, throwing off the cold vibe that filled the room.

Reid took a gasping breath of air and rushed outside, squeezing his eyes shut with a groan as he leant back against the red-brick wall, hanging his head. Sensory overload was _not_ a pleasant experience.

He couldn't do anything about it – he'd been picking up on the smaller, finer details of his surroundings ever since the accident, and it had reached a point where even a brain like his simply didn't have the capacity to process all of it without frying a few circuits. He cracked one eye open and stared up at the uniform blue of the summer sky, trying to focus on its plainness rather than the overwhelming sights, smells and sounds of the crime scene.

"Kid, you alright?"

Reid looked back down when he heard Morgan pipe up beside him, wincing slightly as he took in the sight of the other male.

"Y-Yeah, I'm alright, I-I just..." he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut again and taking a couple of deep breaths.

Sometimes his enhanced senses came in handy.

For instance, when they were examining an unsub's house, he could see things that other team members or crime scene investigators couldn't. Or, when they were chasing somebody down, he could follow the sound of their footsteps more accurately than any other member of the team.

However, on other occasions, it was all just too much. He didn't know how to handle so much stimuli, and he didn't know what he could do about it either. What was he supposed to do? Go to a doctor and spout on about having enhanced sensory capabilities after being whacked over the head with a baseball bat? He'd be chucked in a mental ward, for crying out loud.

"Just?.. Reid, talk to me. Is it a headache?" Morgan asked, carefully grabbing Reid's arm and tugging him around the side of the house, where it was somewhat quieter.

"Um... yeah, yeah, just a headache." Reid murmured, running a hand through his curly mop of hair and squinting at Morgan.

"You've been having these headaches since you got whacked. Are you _sure_ you're okay? I really think you should go see a doctor."

Reid sighed, nodding his head.

"I'm fine, I promise. I already got the all clear, I just need a coffee and a book to read." he mumbled, rubbing his eyes and covering his ears for a split second, just to enjoy a moment's silence.

He was too scared to go a doctor; they'd order another CAT scan, and god knew how that would turn out. The one he'd had in the hospital a month ago had been weird enough.

- – - – - – -

_"Well... I guess I'll start by saying that there's nothing to worry about. However, your scan results are somewhat abnormal." _

_"Abnormal? What do you mean, doctor?"_

_"You have no apparent swelling or bleeding, despite your concussion. Of course, this is technically a good thing, I just don't believe I've seen anything like it before. That isn't what I find so intriguing, though." _

_"Intriguing? Sorry, I don't believe I'm quite following you – can you explain?"_

_"Your grey matter is incredibly dense, and you have a rather large parietal lobe – it's a little hard to tell, but it seems you're missing part of a fissure that divides two sections of your brain, too." _

_"I, ah, I have an IQ 187, and an eidetic memory. I know that grey matter processes information received by the brain, so it makes sense that a high concentration of it would equate to a somewhat higher level of intelligence, right? The largeness of my parietal lobe may have something to do with my skills in mathematics – I have a Ph.D in it. The missing divider could also assist in my brain's speed to process things, similar to how it's theorised that Albert Einstein's brain did, right?" _

_"187? Goodness me, your mother must be very proud. And yes, what you're saying is correct. The missing fissure would allow for alternate pathways to form between different sections of your brain, thus allowing for more thought processing skills. You know, a recent study has suggested that when people suffer from brain damage, their brains actually form new pathways around the damaged portion to restore brain function? A brain's plasticity is incredible, and different portions of the brain can take on many roles when presented with the opportunity to do so." _

_"Er... well, um, yes, I believe I did read something about that a short while ago..." _

_"Your brain is very unique, Dr. Reid. I cannot explain how you've escaped this ordeal with nothing more than superficial bruising and a couple of stitches, though maybe one day, you'll be able to. You have a powerful brain, use it to your advantage." _

_- – - – - – -_

Reid couldn't stop thinking about what the doctor had mentioned, regarding pathways and plasticity.

It was late – they were on the jet back to Quantico now, and everyone else was either asleep or lost in their own little world. Reid was huddled up on the couch as usual, arms wrapped around himself and hair sticking up in all directions. Anyone who walked past would have thought he was sleeping, but really, he was thinking.

New pathways.

Enhanced senses.

At the risk of sounding like a loon, he couldn't help but to shake the feeling that his developing sensory skills had something to do with the plasticity and pathways that his doctor mentioned. Different portions of the brain could take on different roles, right? What if his parietal lobe and his primary sensory cortex had formed new connections, allowing for a more diverse and detailed intake of sensory information?

He sighed, huddling up just a little tighter.

Why would his brain react like this?

He'd been knocked over the head, and for about a week afterwards he'd been fine, but since then he'd continued to evolve to the point where he no longer needed his glasses or contact lenses to see. He could read size-twelve font from across his living room, he could hear a person in a flat two floors below his pacing in the middle of the night, could smell the KFC from down the road. He'd even noticed that his sense of touch was improving, making him even jumpier than usual.

He needed to meet up with the doctor who examined his CAT scan again.

Reid relaxed and diverted his thoughts elsewhere, deciding to make an attempt at sleeping before they landed.


	3. Chapter 2

Reid sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and allowing his eyes to slip shut for a short moment. Had he always had this many case files to complete? It sure as hell seemed like his workload was increasing lately; deep down, he knew it was his headaches and severe sleep deprivation that was making his workload seem heavier than it actually was, but he hated to admit that his issues were getting so bad that they were affecting his ability to do his job.

His job was one of the only things that made him smile, after all, and God knew that he couldn't lose that at a time like this.

Well, studying dead people and horrific crime scenes wasn't all that joyous, but spending time with his friends – his family, as they'd come to be in his mind – and saving lives made it all worth it.

He couldn't even enjoy that anymore, though.

His headaches were only getting worse as his condition progressed, and boy, was it progressing rapidly.

Just the other day, he'd decided to take a walk in the park a block down from his apartment, needing some fresh air and a bit of time to think and collect his thoughts. However, his trip had ended almost as quickly as it started when he was interrupted by a painfully high-pitched wail coming from the middle of the park. It took him a minute, but eventually, he realised that he'd heard someone blowing a dog-whistle.

_A dog whistle._ Y'know, the things that are so high-pitched humans _can't _hear them.

Everything was so loud and so bright and he honestly couldn't cope with it. He was trying to find ways to compartmentalise and sift through the sensory information he processed, but he was having little luck, and he was losing his mind because of it – he was a person that needed silence to unwind, but there was no such thing as silence in his world.

_Everything _made noise.

He'd been forced to take down the clock he'd previously hung on his living room wall, because he could hear it ticking while he tried to sleep at night and it was driving him insane to listen to it constantly. Even in the busy bullpen he could hear his watch ticking, and that was alongside every other damn noise in the vicinity. He could hear his computer's motor whirring loudly, he could hear people conversing on the floor below, he could even hear his own blood pumping if the room fell quiet. It was just a constant onslaught of noise, and a person like Spencer needed silence to think properly.

Nobody really seemed to appreciate how beautiful simplicity was.

Spencer's life had never been simple anyway, but the small dose of peace he'd receive when curling up on his couch with a new book was enough for him to get by on. Now, all he could focus on was how fresh and crisp the new pages smelt, how rigid the spine felt in his hands, how the binding creaked whenever he turned a page and how all of the tiny letters were just slightly unaligned or printed with a tad too much ink.

He needed something, anything. Hell, he'd even tried earplugs; it turned out that if he truly couldn't hear anything from the outside world, he'd hear his insides functioning instead. There was nothing quite like the sound of his Indian takeout making its way through his small intestines.

He'd had some small success when it came to controlling his hypersensitive vision: he found that if he concentrated hard and put a little extra willpower towards it, he could almost 'zoom in' on things that he was looking at, breaking down the massive image that his mind had to process into a somewhat easier chunk to handle. He'd been practising with his bookshelf. He'd pick a book and stare at it for a while, and if he focused just on the book, eventually, the rest would fade out. It was like tunnel vision and looking through binoculars at the same time, in a sense.

Despite this small victory being nice to utilise at home, he didn't really have the time at work to stop and stare at the same object for ten minutes. And, unfortunately, work was where he needed the control the most. He could see every speck of dust that landed on his desk, every single hair that was out of place on his coworkers' heads, read people's papers from across the bullpen... sometimes having hypersensitive vision came in handy, but for the most part, it was nothing but a burden.

At least he had some control over it, though. He tried to be thankful for that.

"Ooh, looks like someone's in trouble," JJ's voice piped up from behind him, snapping him out of his small stupor. He looked up from his desk, following her gaze to Hotch's office, where he was berating Morgan quite sternly, even by his standards.

"He's mad at Morgan, 'cause he's been reckless in the field lately." Reid murmured absentmindedly, having listened to their heated conversation all morning. Sound-proof doors were no use anymore.

"What? How do you know that?" JJ asked, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"Ahh... n-never-mind." Reid stammered, rubbing his eyes quickly and peering back down at the stack of papers on his desk.

"Spence... are you alright? You've been looking woozy all morning." JJ continued softly, setting a gentle hand down on Reid's shoulder. Reid sighed, staring at his lap instead of facing his friend. JJ was like a sister to him – her voice was one of the only ones that didn't grate against the inside of his skull, and he'd found that talking to her was quite soothing for his constant migraines.

"Yeah, I'm fine." he mumbled, picking at the hem of his shirt. JJ didn't move, and Reid quickly realised that she wasn't going to until she got some answers.

"I've just got a bit of a headache, alright? It's nothing, really. Don't worry about it."

"... Okay. Remember, I'm always here if you need help with anything." JJ reminded him, gazing at Hotch's office once more.

"You still haven't told me how you know what they're talking about." she said, looking back down at Reid with raised eyebrows.

Reid tensed up slightly, racking his already unsettled mind for an appropriate answer to JJ's question. He obviously couldn't tell her that he could hear through the walls of Hotch's office, but he was a terrible liar, and there was no way in hell he'd manage to lie his way out of a situation with a goddamn profiler even if he was the best liar around.

"If I tell you, I'll have to kill you." he chuckled, flashing JJ a small smile. It was a pretty pathetic attempt at diffusing the conversation, but he was hoping that maybe his smile would settle JJ enough for her to hop off his back.

She just rolled her eyes and went back to her desk, continuing with her load of case files.

His friends were beginning to notice that there was something wrong with him, and while he highly doubted they'd actually guess what it was, it still wasn't good. He knew he'd be badgered at until he caved in, the same as things had been with his drug addiction and migraines. Except that this time, it wasn't a problem that anyone could struggle with, it was something almost completely unheard of in medicine.

It sounded like something out a cheesy sci-fi novel: he'd been whacked over the head, and now he was developing strange abilities.

He sighed, hanging his head and finishing up his mug of sickly sweet, lukewarm coffee.

- – - – - – -

"Hey Morgan, what did Hotch want?.."

"Oh, he was just pissed 'cause apparently, I've been reckless in the field lately. I can't help it if I was grazed while trying to take down an unsub, it's my jo-"

"...Oh,"

"...What? JJ?"

"Nothing, just... did you tell Reid about that, by any chance?" she questioned, subtly turning to look at Spencer, who was huddled up at his desk on the other side of the bullpen.

"What? No, I didn't. What's this about?" Morgan followed JJ's eyes, staring at Reid.

"Don't stare." JJ ordered, lowering her voice, "I'm worried about him."

"Why's that?" Morgan asked, though something in his voice gave away the fact that he too was concerned for their youngest agent.

"It's just... well... ever since the accident, he's been acting differently. He's barely _touched _his case files, look – they're everywhere. You know how much of a neat freak he is, his desk is almost always immaculate. I don't think he's been sleeping much either, I know he doesn't sleep much anyway, but he looks awful lately." JJ observed with a small, stiff sigh. "I don't know, maybe I'm just worried about nothing."

"He mentioned that he was having headaches to me, a week or so ago... I don't like to betray his trust, but I'm worried about him too. I told him to go visit a doctor, but..."

"Like that's gonna happen. You know how long it took for him to go get his migraines sorted a couple of years ago. Do you think he's losing weight?" Spencer had always been thin and lanky, but he was beginning to border on skeletal. They were forced to watch the life being sucked out of their best friend, and it was pretty terrifying, to be honest.

They didn't know what was wrong, but _something _was wrong, and all they could do was silently muse over what it could be.

They could be as silent as they liked, Reid still heard every word.

- – - – - – -

They didn't even have to say the words out loud for Reid to hear their message loud and clear.

Great.

What was he supposed to do now? He wasn't the best actor, and even if he managed to conceal his mental distress, they were right about him looking awful and losing weight. They knew that something was wrong, and that was bad.

He knew that they couldn't find out. Hell, his mother was a paranoid schizophrenic and they knew that, and they also knew that schizophrenia was genetic: what were they going to think if he told them he could see and hear things that nobody else could?

He stood up on his weak, shaky legs and hurried off to the bathroom, locking himself in one of the cramped stalls. While the sound of the pipes functioning beneath him wasn't particularly pleasant, it was much nicer than the sound of his friends pondering over what was wrong with him.

What if he _was _just going crazy?

He swallowed thickly and rubbed his eyes with his cold, bony hands, before moving to run them through his dishevelled mop of hair.

From now on, there would be no sharing with anyone. Not Morgan, not JJ, not Garcia, no-one.

Until he knew what was going on, he couldn't let them jump to their own conclusions about his mental stability. And, he realised that he couldn't do that either. While it was easy to believe that this could have something to do with schizophrenia or another mental disorder, he knew that he was missing out on a lot of the other required symptoms, and that what he was seeing and hearing wasn't delusional.

Something else was going on here, he just had to find out what.

- – - – - – -

**Sorry this took a while! I lost the original file for this chapter and I was so pissed off that I ignored it for a few days, but hey, it's all good now! Again, all reviews and constructive criticism/ideas are much appreciated, I love you guys and hope you liked this chapter 3**


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